


A Twist in My Story

by TillerFiller95



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Cop Dean, Cop Sam, M/M, Stripper Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillerFiller95/pseuds/TillerFiller95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this took a while. I've been busy with school and work and honestly, I just wasn't feeling this chapter.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Detective Dean Winchester arrived on scene at 12:37am. Patrol had already taped off the area. It looks like the forensics team was already here. Dean parked his car and ran a hand through his already messy brown hair. They woke him up in the middle of the night and made him come all the way out here. This better be good. 

He approached the scene, flashed his badge to the uniformed officer who let him pass. Dean's brother and partner Sam met him on the way to the body. 

"Nice of you to finally join the party," Sam said. Dean just sighed in response. "I'm not happy about being called in either, Dean." 

They've been partners for about five years. Their father was a cop as well and both boys decided to follow in his footsteps. Being in patrol was great and all but it wasn't enough for Dean. He wanted more. After a few years, Dean was up for promotion and he decided to take it. Just a few year later, Sam transferred into homicide and they've been partners ever since. 

The victim was a man, lying face down in a pile of blood. He was dressed only in a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top. Dean found that odd. It was early February, way too cold for that. The medical examiner looked like she was finishing up. Her name was Charlie. She worked with them on most of their cases.

"What do we got?" Dean asked, crouching down next to the body. 

"Single gunshot wound to the head. Point blank range," She said. " Rigor hasn't set in yet. He's only been dead maybe two hours."

"Who is he?" 

"ID says his name is Matthew Morgan. Twenty years old," A uni chimed in, handing Dean his wallet. Dean noticed there was still money inside. There was also an expensive looking watch on the body. So the motive obviously wasn't robbery. This was more than likely personal. 

"The gun?" Dean asked. 

"We haven't recovered the weapon yet, sir," The uni said. 

"Of course not," Dean stood up straight. "That'd be too easy." 

"Turns out our vic is a male stripper," Sam said. "Works at Platinum. Maybe he was killed by some perv who wanted a little more than a lap dance."

"Maybe," Dean said, scratching his chin. There was no bruises on the body to indicate a struggle. "Charlie, any signs of a sexual assault?" 

"Semen in his throat," She said. "I'll know more when I get him to the lab." They placed the body on a gurney and took him away. Dean stared down at the pool of blood. Twenty years old. He was so young. 

Who would want to take his life? Maybe Sam was on to something. "Up for a trip to the strip club?" Dean asked.

Dean loved strip clubs. He thought they were wonderful places. On his 18th birthday, his friends surprised him by taking him out to one and it was one of the greatest nights of his life. It was all fake breasts and ass in his face all night. He'd never felt so grimy but he loved it. 

Gay strips clubs weren't much different. As soon as he and Sam stepped out of the car, Dean heard the loud music coming from the club. Great, he already had a headache. The club wasn't much to look at on the outside, just a large brick building with a flashing pink neon sign that read "Platinum." 

Inside, they were stopped with a big, muscular man dressed in all black. Security. Dean held up his badge without a word. The man hesitated then said, "Can I help you?" He had a jersey accent. He was tan, tanner than Dean thought possible, with short black hair, spiked up. 

"Lawrence Homicide. We need to speak to Fergus Crowely," Sam answered. Crowley was the owner of the club. 

"Homicide?" The guard asked. "What is this about?"

"Where can we find him?" Dean asked impatiently. It was one in the morning. He just wanted to finish up here and go home. 

"His office is in the back. Near the VIP rooms," He said hesitantly. 

"Thanks." 

They walked down a hallway into the performance area. There were a few small stages set up around the room with strippers in cages danced around to the beat of the music that couldn't quite qualify as techo. Then there was a bigger stage right in the middle of the club where a man was spinning around on a pole. He was dressed only in cowboy boots and a thong. Dean stopped to watch, a smile on his face.

"Keep moving, bud," Sam said, shoving Dean forward. 

They found Crowley's office and barged inside. Crowley was there, along with what looked like one of his employees. He was standing behind his desk while the other man was on his knees in front of him. Dean couldn't see what was exactly going on and thank God for that. 

"What the Hell?" Crowley barked, pulling up his pants. He had a English accent. He was dressed nicely in a three piece suit. Not what Dean expected from a man who owned a strip club. "Who the fuck are you?" 

"I'm detective Dean Winchester, this is my partner Sam." Dan said. "Sorry to interrupt." Dean looked at the stripper who was wiping his mouth, looking down at the floor. "We're from homicide, we need to talk to you about one of your employees." 

Crowley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You. Out." The stripper quickly left, closing the door behind him. Crowley sat down at his desk, folding his hands neatly on top. Dean noted how calm he looked. 

"We found Matthew Morgan murdered just a few miles from here. He was an employee, correct?" Sam asked, getting out his notepad. Crowley nodded. "Was he working tonight?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea who would have done this to him?"

"No."

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. Dean took a step forward. "Mr. Crowley. Did Matthew have any problems with anyone at the club? Any customers get too handsy?"

"Not that I know of." 

"What about other employees?"

"As far as I know he was well liked." 

This wasn't going anywhere. Dean sighed loudly, putting his hands on his hips. He looked around the office then back towards the door. Maybe he could get some information from other employees. He nudged Sam and gestured to the door. Sam nodded in understanding and Dean left. 

It didn't hit him until he was back out into the performance area that he was in a strip club. The other employees were strippers. What was he supposed to do? Pull them off the stage? 

Dean's eyes landed on the bar. He decided there wouldn't be a bad place to start. Maybe the bartender could help. And maybe he could get a free drink. He could sure use one right about now. 

It was a struggle for him to get the bartender's attention. He was busy fixing drinks and ignored Dean until he flashed his badge at him. Dean asked about Matthew but the bartender didn't have anything for him. He offered a drink though which Dean accepted happily. He sipped on his beer and turned to face the main stage. 

That's when Dean saw him. He was only wearing only a tight pair of underwear and a bow tie. He was carrying a tray of drinks around, shaking his hips suggestively, turning the heads of any guy he passed, including Dean. 

Dean pushed through the crowd of horny men and grabbed the stripper's wrist. He turned around in surprise, yanking his arm away. 

"Hands off, perv," He snapped. Dean held up his badge and the guys face fell. He looked around nervously, lowering the tray of drinks. "What do you want?"

"I'm from Lawrence Homicide. I'm here about Matthew Morgan. We found his body-"

"Matt's dead?" The guy exclaimed. The color seemed to drain from his face. He looked like he was going to be sick. That was genuine shock. At least Dean knew this guy didn't murder Matthew. 

"Hey, now." Dean took the tray and set it on a near by table. "What's your name?"

"Castiel." 

Dan gave him a look. "Alright, how about an actual name?"

The guy sighed, rolling his blue eyes. "Castiel is my real name." He composed himself rather quickly. Now he was just looking around the club, like he was scared someone was watching them. Dean made a mental note to remember that. 

"Okay, Castiel. How about you and I go somewhere private to talk?" Dean suggested. 

"Can't." Castiel picked up the drinks, a little shakily now. "Gotta get back to work."

"Castiel, I've got to ask you a few questions. It'll only take a few minutes, I promise," Dean said but Castiel wasn't having it. "Don't you even care that your friend's dead?" Dean blurted out. It was total unprofessional and uncalled for. But what other choice did Dean have? Castiel was going to leave before Dean could question him. 

Castiel turned back around and walked right up to Dean. He was several inches shorter than Dean. "Fuck. You." He growled. Dean had to try not to laugh. It was hard to be intimidated by a guy standing in front of you in his underwear and a bow tie. Beside, Castiel was a little guy. He had muscles sure, and some nice abs, but he didn't look like he could hurt a fly. 

"Castiel, I don't mean to upset you, I just want to find the killer."

"Then go find the killer. I don't know who would want to kill him. I'm sorry. Now if you'll excuse me..." Castiel disappeared before Dean could stop him. He quickly got lost in the crowd of perverts and strippers. Dean sighed and tried his luck with the next stripper he encountered.

The night was a total bust. No one knew anything. They all said Matthew was a good guy and had no idea why anyone would want to hurt them. Sam and Dean left empty handed. They called it a night and headed home. 

The next day Dean was sitting at his desk, writing up his report for a case they recently closed. A classic case of a husband murdering his wife and tried to make it seem like a suicide. It was a simple case. The idiot forgot his wife was left handed and put the gun in her right hand. Plus they found gun shot residue on him and not her. Dean brought him in for questioning and he confessed just seconds later. 

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. "Charlie called. Guess what she found on the dead stripper's clothes?"

"Semen?" Dean guessed. 

"Cocaine," Sam corrected. "None in his system though. Just on his clothes."

"Well I guess that widens our suspect search," Dean said, tapping a pen on his desk. "Could have been a drug deal gone wrong."

"But why didn't they take his wallet too?" Sam crossed his arms, looking like he was thinking hard. 

"Maybe they only cared about the drugs." Dean leaned back in his chair. So his victim could possibly be a coke dealer now. This only complicated his case even more. The last thing Dean wanted was to get involved with was drugs. Maybe they should just give this case over to narcotics. 

"We should check out the club again," Sam decided. "See if anyone knew about Matthew's habits. Something was off with Crowley."

Like the night before, Crowley was not alone in his office. But this time, the stripper was not giving him head, and Dean recognized him. It was Castiel. He looked hysterical. He was on the verge of tears, breathing heavily. 

"Don't you people know how to knock?" Crowley snapped. Castiel sniffled, backing away. 

"Mr Crowley, we have a few more questions," Sam said. 

"Fine. Cas, out."

"Actually," Dean cut in. "I'd like to have a word with you, if that's alright."

Dean caught the way Castiel's eyes shot to Crowley and the way he swallowed nervously. 

"I-I have to get back to work," Castiel stammered out. 

"Go on," Crowley said calmly. "Answer the detective's questions." He was giving Castiel this look. Dean couldn't place it but it made Castiel appear nervous. Dean noticed and touched his arm. 

"Let's find somewhere more private to talk." Dean said. He led Castiel out the the quietest corner of the club he could find. "Our lab found traces of cocaine on Matthew's body." Castiel tensed up. "Did you know anything about that?"

"No." Castiel said a little too quickly in a way that made it sound like he knew exactly what Dean was talking about.

"Really? Because I think you do." Dean said. Castiel looked up with wide eyes. "Castiel, if you know anything, you have to tell me."

"I can't," Castiel said.

"Castiel-"

"No, you don't understand. I can't. They'll..." Castiel cut himself off, shaking his head. "Please, just leave me alone."

"Castiel, do you know who killed Matthew?" Dean asked quietly. "If you're worried about someone hurting you, I can protect you." 

"I don't know anything. Please just go away. I can't help you." Castiel sounded desperate to get away. He was afraid of something, or someone. There was something Castiel wasn't telling him, Dean was sure of it but he wasn't going to get anything out of him anytime soon so he reluctantly let him go. 

Castiel quickly ran off. Dean talked to a couple other strippers and the bartender and got the same from all of them. Nothing. Why was no one talking? It was obvious they all knew something. Everyone was looking over there shoulder, like they were afraid someone would see them talking to Dean. They kept the conversation as short as possible, and their answers vague. 

Dean left the club, frustrated and even more determined to get the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

When they got back to the station, annoyed and empty handed, Dean decided to look into the club. There was something off about that whole place. It was highly unlikely that no one knew anything. Matthew was murdered right after his shift just a couple miles away from the club. Someone must have seen someone follow him at the least. The club had security cameras, but oddly enough, they were messed up the night of the murder.

And what about the coke they found on his clothes? If one of Dean's coworkers was a drug dealer, Dan was pretty sure he'd know or at least suspect it. They all knew something but they were too afraid to talk. The question was who exactly they were afraid of, and Dean pretty sure he knew the answer. Crowley. He just needed to figure out why.

"Hey, Dean. I did a background check on Crowley." Sam said, walking over to Dean's desk. Dean looked up from his computer. 

"What'd you find?"

"Nothing."

"He's clean."

"No, I mean I found nothing. No warrants, no criminal records, nothing with the DMV and, no social security number. This guy doesn't exist," Sam said. Dean's brow furrows. "My guess is our friend is in the country illegally."

"Maybe," Dean said thoughtfully. 

"I'll see if we can get a warrant for his DNA," Sam said, digging his phone out of his pocket, probably to call the ADA. Dean chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think of his next move. Why the hell would this guy need an alias? Was he in the country illegally? Or was he on the run? Perhaps a drug dealer gone into hiding? Dean knew there was something off with the guy. That's why he was so unwilling to cooperate with them. He was afraid they'd dig up his little secret. 

 

Sam hung up the phone with a groan. The information wasn't enough to get a warrant for his DNA but Dean and Sam still went back to the club. This place was only getting more suspicious. An owner with a fake identity and workers all afraid to speak up.

Dean tried to talk to the employees a third time and with each "I don't know anything," he was getting more and more frustrated. He was getting sick of it. This was getting them no where. Everyone was afraid and they weren't going to give Dean anything as long as they felt they were in danger. He was trying to find Sam when something caught his attention. It was Castiel. He was on the main stage, spinning around the pole. Dean couldn't help himself. He stopped to watch.

Men lined the stage, money ready. Castiel twirled around a few times, his leg hooked around the pole. He took off the vest he was wearing to show off his toned abs. Dean pulled on the collar of his shirt. It was getting hot. He was having trouble forming any coherent thoughts. He was totally transfixed on the man on the stage. He'd been to his fair share of strip clubs before but he'd never seen a performance like this. 

Castiel slid down the pole to his knees, crawling over to one man who had been tossing money onto the stage like there was no tomorrow. The man slid a couple one dollars bills into Castiel's underwear. Dean's hands formed into fists. Castiel rolled onto his back and lifted his hips. Money was overflowing but the man still stuffed more into the hem of his briefs. 

When he ran out of money, Castiel simply moved on to the next one. It was an elder gentleman, holding up a stack of bills. Castiel grabbed his hands and slid them down his body to his hips. Dean wanted to look away but he couldn't. He kept his eyes on Castiel the entire time. He had to remind himself that he was on the job. Otherwise he would have gone up there too.

The song ended and Castiel got up, collecting all the money off the stage. The men seemed upset his set was over. Dean was too. Castiel left the stage, smiling at the men. It looked forced. Dean walked closer.

Castiel finally looked up and Dean could just see the panic in his eyes. He glanced around, as if planning his escape but Dean stepped in before he could. Castiel stared down at the floor. 

"Nice uh- performance," Dean said, coughing awkwardly. Castiel removed the bills from his underwear, sorting them into a neat pile. 

"Thanks." Castiel finally looked up and Dean noticed his cheek was red and swollen. 

"Shit, what happened to you?" Dean asked. Castiel touched his face. 

"I uh- some customers get a little rough sometimes," Castiel answered. "No big deal."

"Isn't that what security's for?" Dean asked, pointing in the direction of the big, beefy Italian man near the front door. Castiel just shrugged. Dean pulled out of one of his cards from his back pocket and handed it to Castiel. "Take this. If you ever need anything, call me. I mean it. Day or night." 

He didn't buy the story of a customer getting rough. Castiel was afraid of someone and Dean was sure it was whoever did that to his face. Dean wondered if it was his fault. Castiel was freaked out the last time they talked, like he knew someone was watching them. That's why he won't say anything. 

Castiel stared at the little piece of paper in his hands then looked up at Dean with big doe eyes. He pinched his lips together, looking like he wanted to say something. But before he did, Crowley came over, looking pissed. 

"You're here again?" He said. "You people are starting to get on my last nerves, coming in here, fucking up my business, distracting my workers."

"We're trying to investigate the murder of one of your workers," Dean said. "I would think you would want to do all you could to help us."

"You're wasting your time. No one here knows what happened to Matthew."

"I find it hard to believe a word you say, Mr. Crowley. Or, whatever your real name is."

Crowley's expression changed from anger, to shock, right back to anger. His face turned red and he opened his mouth, then he noticed Castiel standing there. "Castiel, what the fuck are you doing just standing around? Get back to work before I fire your ass!"

Castiel jumped, scurrying away. Crowley watched him go then turned back to Dean to put one chubby finger in his face. "Unless you have a warrant, I don't want you to step foot in my club again. Got it?"

"Fine. But I know you had something to do with Matthew's murder, and as soon as I have proof, I'm nailing your ass to the God damn wall. Count on it."

"Out!" He yelled, pointing towards the door. Dean didn't want to, but he had no other choice but to find Sam and leave. 

"Crowley's got something to do with this," Dean said on the ride back to the station. "I just fucking know it."

"Well, luckily our friend is a smoker," Sam said. Dean glanced at him. Sam held up a plastic baggy with a cigarette butt in it. 

"Sammy, I could kiss you right now," Dean said. Sam pulled a face.

"Please don't."

They got the DNA sample to Charlie who promised the results in a couple hours. Dean stayed late at work again to wait. The wait ended up being well worth it. Not only did they figure out Crowley's real name, Fergus MacLeod, who had been arrested for drug charges a few years back, it was a match to the semen in Matthew's throat. They got the bastard. 

Dean couldn't help the smile on his face when they picked Crowley up. He nearly blew a gasket when they walked in his office. Even more so when they told him of the warrant for his arrest. 

The entire club stopped and stared as he lead Crowley out in handcuffs. Dean saw Castiel watching from the bar, a trey of drinks in his hands. His face was unreadable. But Dean could sense some relief. 

Crowley asked for his attorney immediately, without giving them a chance to question him first. Dean didn't care. They had his DNA on a murder victim. They didn't need a confession. They got a warrant to search his home, along with five other properties he owned. 

Dean searched the home from top to bottom, but didn't find anything more connecting him to the murder. They even dumped his phone records but found nothing out of the ordinary. But Dean was so sure Crowley had something to do with the murder. The way he acted when they told him of Matthew's death, so indifferent, like it wasn't even news to him. The way Castiel was so nervous around him. And Castiel, there was something off about him too. Dean just wasn't sure what it was.

 

It was Sam who finally went to question Crowley. Dean watched with their ADA Jo Harvelle from the viewing window. He had his arms crossed, waiting to hear whatever bullshit excuse Crowley could have. 

"Now, Mr. MacLeod," Sam began. "Oh, I'm sorry, you go by Crowley now, isn't that right?" Crowley scowled. "We found semen in Matthew Morgan's throat and when we ran the DNA, it matched yours. Care to explain how your DNA got there?"

"I never gave you my DNA," Crowley spat. "How could you possibly match anything to me?"

"Smoking is a nasty habit, Mr. Macleod," Crowley's jaw clenched. "I'll ask again, how did your DNA end up in our murder victim?" 

"We were lovers."

"Bullshit," Sam said. 

"Honestly, detective?" The lawyer said. "What proof do you have that connects my client to the murder? My client and your victim simply happened to have consensual oral sex the night of his death. Face it, you have nothing linking my client to the murder."

Sam tapped his fingers on the table, now looking angry. Dean hated to admit it, but the lawyer had a point. And Jo agreed. "We need more if we want an indictment." 

Dean was frustrated. He knew this bastard had something to do with the murder but he couldn't find anymore proof. He sent for another search of Crowley's properties which came up with nothing. Crowley didn't even own a gun, legally at least. He must have dumped it or stashed it somewhere else. 

It stung, but they had no other choice was to release Crowley. He seemed smug as he walked to the elevators with his lawyer. Dean watched him go, fists clenched. 

"Bastard," He muttered to himself. 

Now they were back to square one. They had nothing other than the semen linking Crowley to the murder but even that was stretching it. Crowley's lawyer could tear their argument apart. They needed something more. But they couldn't go back to the club so they were pretty much screwed. 

"We'll get him, Dean," Sam said. He was hovered above Dean, watching Crowley leave. Dean wasn't sure he believed it at that point.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke up to his phone ringing. He blindly reached over to his bedside table, grabbing hold of his phone. He didn't know the number but he answered it anyways. "Winchester." He repressed a yawn, blinking a few times to try and wake himself up.

 

"Detective? It's Castiel. I think I'm being followed." Dean sat up, fully awake now. He turned on his lamp, climbing out of bed.

 

"Castiel? What are you talking about?"

 

"I'm walking home from work and I swear someone's following me. I'm sorry to call you in the middle of the night but I didn't know what else to do and I'm scared and I-"

 

"Where are you?" Dean grabbed a pair of jeans from his closet and slipped them on, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder.

 

"On Gervais Street." That was only a five minute drive from Dean's house.

 

"Okay. I'll be there in a few minutes." Dean pulled a shirt over his shoulders, grabbing his keys, wallet, gun and badge, and ran out of his apartment. He had to hurry. What if the person who was following Castiel was the same person who killed Matthew? Would he kill Castiel too? Dean's gut twisted at the thought.

 

He raced to Gervais Street, breaking speed limits, running red lights. It was 3 in the morning, it wasn't like there was anyone out for him to hit. Besides, he was a cop and this was an emergency. He finally saw Castiel and pulled over, putting the car in park and getting out. Castiel was pacing back and forth in front of an ally, chewing on his thumb nail. When he saw Dean, he stopped.

 

"Hey," Dean said. "You ok?"

 

"Yeah, I'm sorry to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night," Castiel said, crossing his arms over his chest. "My car broke down and I don't have enough money for a cab."

 

"It's no problem. You said you thought someone was following you?"

 

"Yeah." Castiel swallowed. "A car was driving real slowly right behind me. It drove away right before you pulled up."

 

"Come on," Dean said. "I'll give you a ride home." He gestured to the Impala.

 

"No, I couldn't ask that of you." Castiel shook his head.

 

"It's the middle of the night. Whoever was following you might come back. I don't mind. Just come-"

 

A car came to a screeching halt and there was a loud explosion. A gun. Dean felt a stinging pain in his left arm. Castiel screamed. Dean's first instinct was to protect Castiel. "Get down!" He forced Castiel down to the ground and stood in front of him. Dean pulled out his gun and fired back, shooting twice before the car sped off. Dean tried to get the plate number but it was too dark. He only got two letters. 'ER' and the number 1. He sighed, putting his gun away and calling dispatch.

 

"911, do you fire, medics or police assistance?"

 

"This is detective Dean Winchester from homicide. I've just been shot. I'm at." He glanced up at the street address. "142 Gervais Street. The shooter is driving a dark green, possibly blue Sedan with the partial plate 'ER 1.'"

 

"We'll have someone out right away," The dispatcher said.

 

"Thank you." Dean hung up, putting his phone away. He lifted his arm to inspect the damage, but winced. He ripped off a piece of his shirt and pressed it to the wound to slow down the bleeding. It didn't seem to be too bad. He'd be fine. Probably only need a couple stitches. He noticed Castiel was still sitting on the ground, wide eyed. Dean walked over, leaning down next to him.

 

"Castiel, you alright?" He asked softly.

 

"You got shot," Castiel dead panned, staring him in the eyes.

 

"The bullet just nicked me. I'll be alright," Dean said but that didn't seem to calm Castiel down any.

 

"You got shot because of me. It's my fault you got shot! Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God," He muttered, mostly to himself. He looked like he was going to throw up. Dean touched his arm. He jumped.

 

"Castiel, it's ok. It's not your fault."

 

"Yes, it is! This is all my fault! I shouldn't have asked you to come out here." Castiel stood up, a little unsteady on his feet. Dean had to reach out and steady him or else he would have fallen.

 

"Castiel, it's alright." Dean tried to assure him. He was starting to feel a little light headed. He was losing blood fast.

 

"Shit. Shit. Shit." Castiel pulled at his hair. He backed away from Dean, falling onto the wall.

 

"Castiel?" Castiel didn't say anything. He was staring at the ground, shaking his head to mumbling to himself. Dean was worried about him. He must have been in shock or something. He looked on the verge of a panic attack. Dean didn't know what to do. He was a homicide detective. He didn't know how to comfort people. That was Sam's job. Dean moved towards Castiel but the world started spinning. He blinked a few times to try and clear his vision.

 

The sound of an ambulance approaching caused Castiel to jump. It came to a stop near them and two paramedics got out. At least they were quick. "Detective," One said. He was short and chubby, with a tiny mustache. "May I?" He gestured to Dean's arm. Dean nodded. The paramedic moved the piece of cloth and Dean removed his shirt. The paramedic determined Dean was right and the bullet just grazed the skin. He'd only need a few stitches. "We need to get you to the hospital, sir."

 

"Alright," Dean said. Castiel was sitting on the ground again, with his knees to his chest, face burried in his hands. "Hold on a second." He walked over to Castiel. "Castiel? Hey, you alright?"

 

"No," Castiel mumbled. A couple cop cars pulled up to the scene. Dean recognized one of the officers. His name was Garth. They went to the academy together.

 

"Detective Winchester," He said. "Shouldn't you be on your way to the hospital by now?"

 

"Probably," Dean said. "I need you to do me a favor. That-" He pointed to Castiel, "Is Castiel. He witnessed the shooting and he's a little shaken up. I need you to personally make sure he gets taken care of."

 

"Yes, sir." Garth said.

 

                                                                                             ~~~

 

"Dean, you asshole!" Was the first thing out of Sam's mouth when Dean walked into the station. His arm was in a sling. He was going to be stuck on paper duty for a few weeks. Just his fucking luck. His life was going to suck for the next month. "How could you go and get yourself fucking shot?"

 

"I'm sorry?" Dean walked over to his desk, sipping on his coffee.

 

"Dude, why are you at work? Captain gave you time off," Sam said. "You should take it."

 

"I don't need time off. I'm fine." Dean logged onto his computer, sighing at the stack of paper work that had piled up.

 

"So, I read you were out with some guy named Castiel," Sam said, leaning on the desk. "Isn't that the name of one of the Strippers at Platinum?"

"Yeah." Dean trailed off. Saying it out loud, it sounded bad. "But it's not what it seems. He called me because he thought someone was following him. Probably whoever shot me."

 

"How'd he get your number?"

 

"I gave him my card," Dean said defensively. "I'm not screwing a stripper."

 

"Oh really?" Sam smirked. "Then why is he here?" "What?" Dean looked towards the door. There Castiel was, standing in the middle of the station. He looked awkward and out of place, with his tiny shorts and tight top, rubbing his arm. Dean stood up, walking over to him. Castiel smiled at him.

 

"Detective, hey. How's your arm?"

 

"A few stitches. I think I'll make it." Castiel laughed a little. "What are you doing here?"

 

"I just wanted to apologize," Castiel said.

 

 "Castiel, I told you it's ok."

"I got you shot. It's not ok. I know it doesn't really make up for it but I was wondering if you'd like to go out for dinner tonight?"

 

Dean smirked. "Like on a date?" He was only joking but then Castiel bit his bottom lip suggestively, touching Dean's chest light.

 

"Yeah, like on a date," He said softly. "There's this nice Italian resturaunt downtown. My treat." Dean knew he shouldn't. But the way Castiel was looking at him, he couldn't say no.

 

"Sounds great." Dean said. Castiel grinned and pulled out a piece of paper from his ridiculously tight shorts.

 

"My address. Pick me up at seven?" Castiel batted his eyes lashes in the most adorable way. They were a light blue. Big and full of innocence.

 

"I'll be there." Dean said.

 

"See you then, detective. " Castiel slid his hand down Dean's chest, almost to his belt, and then turned to leave. Dean couldn't help but notice the way his hips moved as he walked. And those long legs...

 

"What the fuck was that?" Sam snorted, snapping Dean from his thoughts. "Did you just make a date with a stripper."

 

"No." Dean scoffed. "He's just buying me a _'sorry for getting you shot'_ dinner."

 

"Dean..."

 

"I have work to do."

 

Castiel didn't leave Dean's mind for the rest of the day. Was he being stupid? Agreeing to go out with an employee of the man you're investigating. It could jepordize the case. But it wasn't a like it was a date. Castiel felt responsible for Dean getting shot and wanted to make up for it with some dinner. Completely innocent.

 

That night Dean drove to the address Castiel gave him. It was in a small apartment complex. He lived on the second floor. Dean knocked on the door and waited. Castiel answered and Dean did a double take. He was wearing black skinny jeans and a nice button up.

 

"Wow," Dean said, staring at Castiel. "You look so weird with clothes on."

 

"Ha ha," Castiel said dryly. He stepped out of the apartment and shut the door, making sure it was locked.

 

"I mean, you didn't have to get _dressed_ for me." Castiel leaned against his door, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't look amused. Dean was cracking up. It was just so strange seeing Castiel dressed up.

 

"You're hilarious."

 

"Alright, I'm sorry. I'm done. You look very nice," Dean said and he meant it. Castiel was a very good looking man. Whenever he thought of stripper, he thought of cracked out whores but Castiel seemed very together.

 

"Thanks. You do too." Castiel gave him directions to the restaurant. It was nicer than Dean thought it'd be. Dean felt a bit under-dressed. He was just wearing jeans and a flannel. He wasn't sure what to wear and spent more time than he'd like to admit picking out an outfit.

 

They were seated in a booth in the back of the place. Each table had candles lit on top, creating a very romantic atmosphere. Dean reminded himself this wasn't a date. Castiel ordered a wine and Dean got a beer. Bread sticks were placed on the table while they waited for their food. They didn't talk much. What was there to say?

 

Dean tried hard not to stare at Castiel. He really was a handsome man. His hair was styled nicely and the flames of the fire reflected in his blue eyes. Castiel was looking around the place or checking his phone. Dean picked at a bread stick. When the food finally came, Dean started a conversation.

 

"So you don't have to work tonight?" Dean asked.

 

"I was scheduled to work but I took a couple days off," Castiel said. "I was a little shaken up. I'm surprised you didn't. Getting shot is a pretty good reason to take a sick day."

 

"I like to keep myself busy," Dean replied. Castiel twirled his pasta around on his fork.

 

"How do you like your job? What's it like being a detective?"

 

"It's alright. I like it, except for the getting shot part." Castiel giggled a little, touching Dean's hand from across the table.

 

"So, how's the Crowley case coming along?" He asked. Dean gave him a look.

 

"You know I can't discuss that with you." Why would Castiel want to know about that? He got a weird feeling in his gut but then Castiel shook his head and said,

 

"Duh, of course not. Sorry. Anyways, hows your dinner?"

 

"It's alright." The weird feeling soon went away. It wasn't exactly weird Castiel was asking about the case. That was his boss and he was being accused of murder. Dean would be curious too. After dinner, Castiel insisted on paying but Dean wouldn't allow it.

 

"This is supposed to be an apology dinner," Castiel said in a whiny voice when Dean grabbed the check.

 

"It's fine. I told you it wasn't your fault. I'll pay."

 

Soon, they were on their way back to Castiel's. Dean had the radio on. Castiel was singing along softly, staring out the window. Dean was smiling. Castiel was so cute. They arrived and Castiel surprised him by asking him to come up for a drink. Dean accepted. There was no harm in having a couple drinks. Of course, he wouldn't mention this part to Sam. He'd never hear the end of it.

 

Castiel got two beers from the fridge and handed one to Dean. Castiel's apartment was very nicely furnished. He had a few beautiful paintings hung up on the walls. He had a big comfy looking couch in the living room and a huge flat screen. Everything was neat and tidy. Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting Castiel's apartment to look like but this wasn't it.

 

"You have a really nice-" Dean was cut off by Castiel shoving his tongue down his throat. Dean's eyes widened in surprise. Okay, he'd not been expecting that. He wasn't used to guys being so forward. Of course, he's never been with a stripper before. Castiel's lips were soft, and tasted like the wine he'd been drinking and green apple chap stick. Castiel pulled away to take his and Dean's drink and set them on the coffee table then crawled on Dean's lap, straddling him. He grabbed Dean's face with both hands, kissing him once more. Dean shut his eyes, letting himself relax. For once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. I've been busy with school and work and honestly, I just wasn't feeling this chapter.


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